The Orphan Uprising (The Orphan Trilogy, #3) (26 page)

“But I’m not asking you to hold onto it,” Nine said. “All I’m asking is for enough men to force our way onto the premises, find my son and get out quick. The whole thing could be over in fifteen minutes or less.”

“I’m sorry Mister Hannar.” Lusambo stood up, indicating the meeting was over. “I won’t order my men on a suicide mission. Not for any amount of money.”

Nine was beginning to feel desperate. He’d been relying on securing the support of Lusambo’s militia. He had no Plan B.

Sensing his despair, Leila touched his arm. “I am sorry, Sebastian. If my husband could help you, he would.”

Realizing he was beaten, Nine stood up and faced Lusambo. He couldn’t think of anything else to say. The captain’s mind was obviously made up.

Lusambo handed the photos back to Nine.

“No you keep them as souvenirs,” the former operative said.

Lusambo handed the photos to Leila then ordered his lieutenants to arrange for Nine to be returned to the boat that was waiting to take him back to Kindu. Turning back to his guest, he said, “I wish you well, my friend.”

“And you,” a disconsolate Nine said. He smiled at Leila and followed the lieutenants out of the tent into the rain.

One of the lieutenants blindfolded the visitor, then he and his comrade bundled him into the back of the same vehicle that had brought him to their camp. From the opening of their tent, Lusambo and Leila watched as the vehicle drove off.

The drive back to the boat seemed to take forever. Nine was feeling even more disconsolate by the time he reached the jetty. Without the firepower the rebels could have supplied, he knew he didn’t have a hope of even finding Francis let alone rescuing him.

Nine belatedly remembered the ten thousand dollars he’d paid Lusambo’s men earlier as a down-payment for the militia’s services. He put that out of his mind immediately. It seemed unimportant now.

As he boarded the boat, he felt as though he was in a trance. His mind and body were just going through the motions.

Minutes later, sitting alone, drenched and blindfolded in the darkness of the cabin below deck, he thought of Francis and silently wept.

54

As Nine was being ferried back to Kindu, Leila lay wide awake next to her husband in their jungle tent. Images of the disfigured children in the photos Nine had left behind kept running through her mind like some horror movie.

Finally, Leila arose from the bed mat and retrieved the photos she’d left on one of the folding chairs. After lighting a kerosene lamp, she sat down and began looking through the photos again.

“What is it?” Lusambo asked from across the tent.

“Nothing, dear. You go back to sleep.”

Moments later, loud snoring told Leila that her husband had heeded her advice.

Leila cried tears of anguish as she studied the gruesome photos. The skin of one colored African boy had been turned white; the skin of a European girl had been turned black; another young African boy had the facial features of an old man and yet another had a third eye inserted in his forehead. The eye looked to be in working order though there was no way of knowing if that was the case.

Leila was about to return to bed when a photo of yet another young African boy caught her eye. She’d overlooked it earlier because it had been stuck beneath a larger photo. Leila lifted the photo up to the lamp and studied it closely. She let out a scream of recognition. “Sonny!”

Alerted by his wife’s scream, Lusambo jumped to his feet, revolver in hand. “What is it?”

At the same time, the two sentries on duty outside the tent burst in, rifles at the ready.

“Undu, it’s Sonny!” She held the photo up to her husband’s face.

Lusambo snatched the photo from her and studied it by the light of the lamp. He recognized the boy in the photo. It was Sonny, his nephew and his late sister’s only child. The boy had been abducted and his mother raped and shot when another Mai Mai militia group had raided their village two years earlier. Sonny was seven when he was taken.

“Oh, Indu! We must rescue him!” Leila implored. “We owe that much to Grace.” She referred to the woman who was Sonny’s mother and Lusambo’s older sister.

Lusambo didn’t need convincing. He’d worshipped his sister until she’d been so cruelly taken from him. Grace had served as a substitute parent after their own parents had died in a malaria outbreak, working hard to ensure there was always food on the table for herself and her kid brother. She’d even put him through school using her own hard-earned wages.

Turning to the nearest sentry, Lusambo said, “Get word to Skipper.”

The sentry knew his boss was referring to the skipper of the boat that was taking Nine back to Kindu.

“Tell him to get his passenger back here quick as possible.”

The sentry left the tent.

Lusambo addressed the remaining sentry. “I’m calling a meeting in the war tent in ten minutes. Alert the men.”

“Yes sir.” The second sentry hurried off, leaving the Lusambos alone for the moment.

Leila looked up at her husband, her eyes full of hope. “God has returned Sonny to us.” She buried her face in his chest.

“Not yet he hasn’t,” the captain said. He knew it would need a miracle to rescue his nephew, but he was prepared to die trying. He owed that much to Grace.

While the Lusambos were thanking God for giving them a sign the boy was still alive, in a nearby tent the camp’s radio operator was talking to the boat’s skipper via radio-telephone. “Yes you heard correct,” the operator said. “The captain wants you to bring the white man back to camp. Over.”

#

The boat had been chugging upriver for the best part of an hour. In that time, Nine had resigned himself to having to find another way to rescue Francis. His mentor’s words kept coming back to him.
For every problem there’s always a solution
. But try as he may, he couldn’t think of one for this particular problem.

The first he knew something was up was when the boat suddenly turned around. Thirty seconds was all it took the boat to complete the turn. Now, aided by the current, it was speeding back downriver.

“What’s going on?” he asked. Still blindfolded, he couldn’t see a thing. “What’s going on?” he shouted, louder this time.

Nine sensed a presence at the top of the ladder leading down into the cabin. Then a gruff African voice said, “Skipper says he has been ordered to return you to camp.”

The former operative wondered if he was hearing things. “Say again.”

“We are taking you back to camp.”

Those words were music to Nine’s ears and he inwardly rejoiced.

55

For Isabelle and Seventeen, two days had passed without incident since they’d checked in to the exclusive Papenoo River Valley Lodge in Tahiti’s rugged interior. The lodge, which overlooked the river, gave them the privacy they required. And their enforced association had brought about a change in their relationship, too.

The change had been subtle at first. Monosyllabic responses had given way to full sentences and these in turn had evolved into full blown discussions. Their first discussion was more of an argument. It happened on their first night at the lodge and concerned the little matter of Seventeen terminating Isabelle’s parents in France five years earlier.

Though Nine had explained that Seventeen had been under the influence of MK-Ultra mind-control at the time and to this day had no recollection of the incident, Isabelle hadn’t been able to forgive Seventeen. Nor had she forgotten how Nine’s sister had mistreated her when she’d interned her in the CIA detention center after killing her parents.

As for Seventeen, she was still getting over the shock of learning of her past actions. Hearing that she’d killed innocent people had hit her like a bombshell, and she was grappling with learning how to live with herself. She never expected Isabelle’s forgiveness.

It was Isabelle who had raised the delicate topic, asking her minder if she ever had flashbacks to her days as an Omega operative. Seventeen had advised her she did as, to the best of her knowledge, she had only occasionally been in a mind-controlled state. Isabelle had responded sarcastically, suggesting that was very convenient.

The argument that followed had been brief but vigorous. Seventeen had taken issue with the sarcasm and Isabelle had vented the anger she’d built up over the years since the loss of her parents.

Though painful at the time, the argument had cleared the air. It ended in tears with both women consoling each other.

Since then, they were rapidly become inseparable, and not only because they were forced to spend just about every minute of every day in each other’s company. A true friendship was starting to blossom.

Isabelle recognized some of Nine’s traits in her sister-in-law. Like her brother, Seventeen was compassionate and caring, and she had hidden depths that she only revealed to those she trusted.

The Frenchwoman also couldn’t forget that Seventeen had put her life on the line to do Nine’s bidding and come to Tahiti to protect her from the same people who had taken Francis. Isabelle knew enough about Omega to know they wouldn’t hesitate to kill Seventeen if they thought she was preventing them from achieving their aims – whatever those aims were.

Now, as the pair enjoyed a drink beneath the shade of tropical almond trees in the private courtyard of their unit, they discussed the people who were always in their thoughts: Nine and Francis. And as always, Isabelle became emotional when she talked about them.

“I just know something is wrong,” the Frenchwoman said, fondling the ruby that dangled from the end of her necklace. “Sebastian could be dead!” Isabelle began sobbing. “Perhaps Francis is dead, too!”

“I’m sure nothing’s wrong,” Seventeen countered. She put a comforting arm around Isabelle. “I’ll drive into town tomorrow to check my emails. There may be some good news.” Her sister-in-law seemed encouraged by that. Seventeen added, “And if anyone can rescue Francis, Sebastian can.” Her choice of words had a calming effect on Isabelle.

A movement in the Frenchwoman’s swollen belly caused her to grimace. She clutched her tummy.

“You okay?” Seventeen asked.

“Baby moved,” Isabelle smiled. “She has been doing that a lot lately.”

“She?”

“Yes, it is a girl.”

“Do you have a name for her?”

“Annette. After Sebastian’s mother.”

Seventeen felt tears welling up. “And my mother, too.”

Isabelle hadn’t considered that before. She reached out and touched Seventeen’s arm affectionately. “Yes. After your mother, too.”

#

As Isabelle and Seventeen talked and sipped cold drinks in the shade, just fifty yards away in the Papenoo River Valley Lodge’s front office, a telephone rang. The call was answered by one of the proprietors, Fraulein Schmidt, a sophisticated German woman.

“La ora na,” Fraulein Schmidt answered by way of an authentic Tahitian greeting, “this is the Papenoo Lodge. Can I help you?”

At the other end of the line, Twenty Three answered, “Yes this is Inspector Marcel, of the French National Police, in Papeete.” He spoke English with a strong French accent.

The proprietor immediately reverted to fluent French. “Oui, Inspector. How can I help?”

Responding in kind, Twenty Three said, “I am phoning to enquire whether a man and a woman have checked in there in the last couple of days. They are possibly traveling as husband and wife.”

“Non. The only people who have checked in recently are two women.”

“Ah.” Twenty Three was about to hang up. He and Fifteen had been phoning accommodation establishments all over Tahiti for the past two days – all for nothing – and they were both running out of energy and motivation. As an afterthought he asked, “You’re sure they are both women?”

“Oh, oui. They both look very feminine. One of them is pregnant.”

Twenty Three suddenly became interested. He questioned Fraulein Schmidt further, noting the women’s mode of transport, the registration number of their car and the names they had checked in under. Before ending the call, he asked the proprietor not to mention the phone call to anyone.

As soon as he was off the phone, Twenty Three checked with local gendarmes who confirmed that the registration number he’d been given belonged to a station wagon reported stolen on the north coast two days earlier.

56

It was nearing dawn before Nine was returned to Lusambo’s militia encampment – too late for the night-time raid he’d hoped to organize on the refinery upriver. The former operative was convinced Lusambo had reconsidered his proposal.
Why else did he bring me back?
He was only seconds away from finding out.

The Mai Mai rebels’ base looked quite different to how it looked earlier that night. Although it was still dark, the camp was now a hive of activity with rebels everywhere. For the first time, Nine noticed there were women among them. Several carried sleeping babies on their backs while tending cooking fires and performing other menial chores. Two women were armed and looked ready for a fight.

Many of the rebels appeared to be readying vehicles and equipment for an engagement. Others were stockpiling and cleaning weapons. The AK-47 was apparently the weapon of choice though there was an impressive collection of rocket-launchers, mortars and explosive devices in addition to the light artillery pieces Nine had noticed earlier.

Nine observed the rebels were a mix of ethnicities – not surprising given the DRC’s huge population comprised some two hundred ethnicities – and nationalities. The majority were Congolese, but Nine had discovered a number of rebels were Rwandan, Ugandan, Sudanese, Zambian and, in one case, Angolan.

The first impression was they were a rag-tag bunch. Their camouflage uniforms were ripped and torn – and sodden of course – and their gear looked decidedly second-hand. However, Nine’s assessment was they were battle-hardened warriors. They had a look about them that was reminiscent of Special Forces soldiers whose casual appearance and demeanour were often decidedly deceptive.